If This Be Magic
by Captain-Emily
Summary: It's amazing what you can discover about yourself in a life-or-death situation, as Tim Drake is about to learn firsthand. In this installment, "Expanding the Colony", Tim explores the American wizarding world and prepares for his trip to Hogwarts.
1. If This Be Magic

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DC Comics or the Harry Potter series.

oOo

**If This Be Magic**

oOo

Pain ripped through Tim Drake's head as he struggled for consciousness, but the darkness was reluctant to relinquish its grip. His temples throbbed in time with the blaring klaxons. Though he was vaguely aware of a soft female voice, her words were lost among the sirens.

He managed to open his eyes, but the flashing red lights sent a surge of nausea through him and he quickly closed them once again, rolling onto his side. Vomiting all over himself would not help matters right now. He groaned, clutching his stomach.

"Robin! Get up!" Batman's voice cut through the chaos and Tim clutched it like a lifeline, allowing it to pull him toward wakefulness.

"Batman?" he rasped, swallowing down the taste of bile.

"Robin! Listen to me-I need you to get up _now_. You've got to get out of here."

Tim rolled over, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. His arms wobbled and he collapsed forward, head bouncing painfully off of something hard. Tim eyed the cracked hunk of concrete balefully.

"TIM! GET UP!"

Secret identities were strictly forbidden while in costume, so the sound of his own name helped clear some of the remaining fog from his mind. With a deep, steadying breath, Tim pushed himself onto his knees, somehow managing to remain upright.

"You need to run, _now_."

Tim rolled his shoulders and tried to find Batman through cracked and dusty Starlite lenses. He spotted the man about 10 yards to his right, seated by a pile of debris. "Batman? What-?"

He was interrupted by the return of the feminine voice. "_Facility self destruct in three minutes_."

Letting adrenaline and years of training take over, Tim staggered to his feet. He remembered now— they'd infiltrated one of Ra's al Ghul's abandoned hideouts, searching for intel. The facility went deep underground, far enough that their comm units had lost the satellite signal. The laughing voice of Ra's came over the speakers, springing the trap. There was an explosion, then darkness.

Tim stumbled through the rubble to his mentor's side. The boy reached down, grabbing the older man's arm in an attempt to help him up. "I'm okay now. If you're injured you can lean on me. Let's get out of here."

"Robin—"

Tim pulled harder, drawing a pained hiss from Batman.

"TIM, STOP!"

There was desperation in the man's voice and Tim dropped his arm in surprise.

"You don't have much time left. Go. Now. That's an order."

Tim tried to look at Batman, but shattered and dirty lenses blurred his vision. Not caring about the spirit gum on his skin, the boy peeled off his mask. It was then that he got his first clear picture of the situation. He shivered as a chill washed through his body, like someone had replaced his spinal fluid with ice water. Bruce was seated on the floor of the long hallway near a pile of rubble. A section of roof had collapsed in the explosion and his legs were pinned beneath a large chunk of concrete. Given the size of the debris and the rapidly spreading puddle of blood, Tim knew that even if he managed to get him free, Bruce's legs would be utterly pulverized. Tim would have to carry him through the half-mile of underground tunnel to the surface.

"_Facility self-destruct in two minutes."_

With the cowl removed, he could see in the man's eyes that Bruce had already made his decision-had already accepted his fate. Tim's own mask slipped unnoticed from numb fingers.

"I ordered you to run."

"No."

"Tim-"

"NO!" he shouted, dropping to his knees beside the rubble. He began desperately tossing pieces aside. "NO! I'M NOT LEAVING YOU!"

"You're not going to be able to move that slab. There's still a chance you can make it to the surface."

"NO! You wouldn't leave me and I'm not leaving you." He began digging more frantically, tears splashing in the dust.

"_Facility self-destruct in one minute."_

"I CAN'T LET YOU DIE LIKE THIS!" Bruce roared. "Go. Find cover."

The boy didn't respond, his focus entirely on the massive stone trapping Bruce's legs.

"_Facility self-destruct in thirty seconds."_

"Tim." One word, but the hopelessness, the agony was clear. The boy locked eyes with his mentor, a well of emotions shared in one glance.

He threw himself at the older man, hands sliding under the cape to wrap around an armored torso, seeking solace and absolution in his father's embrace. Bruce wrapped his own arms around his son, hugging him tightly, his face buried in Tim's hair.

"_Facility self-destruct in five…"_

"I'm sorry, Tim."

"_Four…"_

A sob escaped, despite Tim's best efforts to bravely face the end.

"_Three…"_

"I'm sorry too, Bruce."

"_Two…"_

Bruce tightened his hold on his son with one arm, the other wrapping the trembling figure tightly in his own cape in one last desperate attempt to protect him.

"_One…"_

Tim could hear the explosion in one of the lower levels of the facility. A deep rumble shook the ground, quickly gaining in intensity. A wave of blistering heat swept over the huddled heroes and Tim knew that the fire was only seconds away.

He was going to die.

And Bruce-the man who had chosen to take him in, to train him, and to love him like a son-was going to die with him.

At that moment, Tim wished with all of his being that he and Bruce would make it through this. That somehow, they'd make it home again, safe and sound in the cave. Suddenly he felt as though he were being compressed—like his entire body was compacted into something the size of a golf ball and shoved through a steel pipe. The sensation was too much for his already battered body and Tim blacked out.

A faint popping sound, like the uncorking of a champagne bottle, was barely audible over the roar of the onrushing flame.

oOo

Upon awakening, the first thing that Tim noticed was the pain. Every muscle in his body ached as though he'd gone a dozen rounds as Bane's personal punching bag. He wanted to stretch, work the soreness from his muscles, but he was completely devoid of energy.

The second thing Tim noticed was the steady hum of machinery and the echoing cry of bats in the distance. Bats generally meant the cave, but a tiny voice in his muddled mind was screaming at him, telling him that something was wrong—that he was missing something important. There was a slight chill in the air, which smelled of earth tinged with a hint of metal and chemicals.

He forced his eyes to open and confirmed that he was indeed in the cave, tucked into one of the hospital beds in the medical area. The little voice in his mind that was desperately trying to get his attention began to scream louder.

And then he remembered. Bruce trapped, the woman's voice counting down, the explosion, the heat of the fireball… He should be dead. And while it wouldn't surprise him to discover that his own personal Heaven included the Batcave, he was almost certain that a dead person shouldn't feel as awful as he did right now. So how in the hell had he gotten out?

And more importantly, _where was Bruce?_

With a pained groan, Tim forced himself to sit up, shoving the blankets to the foot of the bed. Alfred and Dick were quickly by his side and attempting to gently maneuver him into lying back down, but the boy would have none of that.

"Bruce?" he called, worried eyes searching for his missing father. He found the man close by, propped up in another bed, casts on both of his legs and an Amazonian purple healing ray focused on his lower body. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to get through Dick, Tim shifted, quickly slipping past Alfred in a move that would have made the Flash proud. The second his feet hit the cool cave floor, Tim hurried to Bruce's side as fast as his weary body would allow.

Clumsy hands grasped for Bruce's shoulders, desperate to confirm what his eyes were telling him—that his father was alive. That somehow they'd made it home.

"Bruce?" Tim whispered. The exhausted boy's legs were as unsteady as a toddler taking his first steps as he struggled to remain upright.

"It's okay, Tim", Bruce said, wrapping a powerful arm around the shaking boy's back and pulling him onto the bed. Tim curled up on the mattress at Bruce's side, his head by the older man's hip, and struggled to keep his tears at bay. Though he knew that both Dick and Alfred were watching from close by, all was quiet in the cave.

Soon the healing ray began to work its magic, the soreness and tension slowly evaporating from Tim's weakened form. He lost track of time as he laid there, the healing ray, the distant cry of bats, and Bruce's safe presence lulling him into a state of relaxation. Sleep was nipping at his heels, but his desire for answers outweighed his need to rest. He sat up and blinked tiredly at his surroundings, finding an empty chair at Bruce's bedside. With a yawn and a languorous cat's stretch, Tim slid off the bed and into the waiting chair. Dick quickly pulled him into a one-armed brotherly hug and Alfred was soon at his side, a bottle of water in hand. Uncapping the bottle, Tim drank greedily, finishing half of it in a few swallows.

As he looked to Bruce to finally get some answers, he realized that there was a fifth person in the room. When members of the Batclan were badly injured, it wasn't uncommon for visitors to drop in. Dr. Leslie Thompkins was a regular, as were both Oracle and Superman. But the last person Tim expected to see sitting quietly at the other side of Bruce's bed was Jason Blood. The sorcerer was watching Tim, who at the moment was feeling rather like a specimen under a microscope.

The man's amused blue eyes noticed Tim's surprise and he inclined his head in greeting. Unsure of how to respond and not wanting to offend the mysterious and powerful Mr. Blood, Tim merely nodded back. While curious about the sorcerer's presence, he had far more important things on his mind at the moment. He needed answers and he needed them now.

"Why aren't we dead?"

A grimace twisted Bruce's mouth as he started to reply, then hesitated. The sight of Bruce at a loss for words made Tim uneasy and an awkward silence settled over the group.

Apparently, Blood had no qualms about answering. "You apparated."

"I…what?"

"You apparated. Apparition is like-", he paused, running a hand through his red hair as he searched for the right words. The gesture called attention to the white streak above his right temple and Tim idly wondered how the man had gotten it. "Apparition is like magical teleportation. Wizards use it to travel over limited distances. You appeared here in the cave, from what I heard giving Alfred and Nightwing quite a fright. Because you apparated from South Dakota all the way to Gotham, your magical core was stressed and you passed out."

Tim merely sat, chin in hand, pondering Blood's words. "But how did I apparate?" He pronounced the unfamiliar word carefully, as though speaking a foreign language. "I'm not a wizard."

Blood smiled. "But you are Tim. Otherwise you couldn't have done it."

Fear gripped Tim's heart, stealing his breath and leaving him feeling like he'd just inhaled a double-dose of the Scarecrow's gas. He forced himself to breathe evenly—in, hold, and out, in, hold, and out. Today was shaping up to be one for the record books. Tim pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his crossed arms. He just wanted to go to sleep. Maybe when he woke up tomorrow morning, he'd realize that this ridiculous disaster of a day was just a bad dream.

A firm hand gripped his knee, pulling the boy out of his brooding. Bruce squeezed his knee once more then leaned back against his pillows. "It's going to be okay Tim. We _will_ figure something out."

Tim scoffed. He'd spent the first decade of his life foisted off on a housekeeper while his parents left him behind to travel the world. Bruce had taken him in and given him a new home, but how long would that last after this newest revelation? "How is it going to be okay?" Tim asked bitterly. "You _hate_ magic."

Bruce sighed, which sounded strange coming from the usually stoic man. "I don't like magic because it's been nothing but trouble for me and because I have few defenses against it. That doesn't mean that I don't like magic _users_. You should know that. You've seen me work with both Jason and Zatanna."

Tim nodded reluctantly.

"Tim, look at me." There was just enough of The Bat in his voice that Tim automatically complied, his full attention on his mentor. "I won't abandon you. I'm going to help you through this." Bruce smiled, but it was the slightly wicked smile of the Batman—a smile that usually preceded a major beat down for some hapless criminal. "Besides, imagine how powerful you're going to be when you combine your training with magic."

Apparently this was the right thing to say because Tim met Bruce's devious smile with a smirk of his own. "Alright, so maybe I am a wizard. Why am I just finding out now?"

Jason smoothly stepped back into the conversation. "That's a good question. Usually children begin showing signs of magic early, some as early as infancy, but I spoke with Bruce while you were unconscious and he said that you've always been a—well, a very structured child. Highly logical, rarely prone to emotional outbursts. I believe these qualities, combined with your training as Robin, allowed you to subconsciously control your magic. Of course, there's always a chance that you did have a few incidents of accidental magic, but perhaps you mentally brushed them off as something else."

"I think I'd notice if—" Tim cut himself off, brow creasing in thought. Come to think of it, there was the time that he'd been swinging over the city and his decel line snapped. He'd fallen four stories, only to land on a pile of mattresses. At the time he'd chalked it up to bizarre coincidence and extreme luck, but now he wasn't so sure. There were also a few bullets that somehow managed to miss their mark despite being fired at point blank range.

Jason chuckled, seeing the pensive look on Tim's face. "I thought as much."

Tim tapped his bare foot rapidly on the cave floor, lost in the whirlwind of his own mind. After a few moments, he squared his shoulders and looked Bruce directly in the eye, willing him to understand his seriousness. "I'm going to need training."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

Bruce merely nodded, but Tim knew that his guardian was firmly behind him.

Once again, Jason spoke. "There are schools of magic all over the world. Normally children start at age eleven, but sometimes muggleborns, or children born of non-magical parents, slip through the cracks. While older students entering wizarding schools are rare, it's not unheard of."

"Wait, why would I need to go to one of these schools? I kind of assumed that you or Zatanna would be teaching me."

"While we're more than happy to help, there are many branches of magic. We might be able to teach you the basics, but even we aren't masters of them all. Going to a wizarding school will give you access to the best instructors in every field. And don't worry about falling behind. You're a quick study. With a bit of tutoring over the summer, you'll do just fine."

While skeptical, Tim's crimefighting career had taught him that sometimes you had to rely on the expertise of others. He _hmmed_ thoughtfully, willing to listen to Jason's advice with an open mind.

"The closest school is in Salem, Massachusetts, and while it has a good reputation, Bruce and I believe that it might be too close to Gotham for you to have any privacy," Jason said. "Between the press from being airlifted out of No Man's Land and your recent adoption, I doubt you'll be there a week before the fact that you're Bruce Wayne's son goes public."

"So what are my options?" Tim asked, smothering a yawn.

Again Jason ran a hand through his red hair, blue eyes distant as he mentally shifted through his knowledge of the wizarding world. "There are a few other schools in the US, in New Orleans, Key West, Texas, Montana, and Washington state. However, if I might make a suggestion—", Jason hesitated until Tim nodded for him to continue. "One of the best wizarding schools in the world is located in Scotland, and they've recently contacted me about teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts next year. If you'd like, I can put in a good word for you. Maybe even arrange for you to commute back to Gotham on the weekends so that your duties as Robin aren't neglected."

The prospect of having a familiar face close by, especially one who was well aware of the many skeletons lurking in the Batclan's proverbial closet, helped ease Tim's frazzled nerves.. "That—that would be awesome. Thank you Jason."

"You're welcome. And might I say," Jason smiled, and those exposed pearly whites caused Tim to shiver. "I look forward to helping you catch up on your studies. I have no doubt that you will be a most interesting student."

oOo

One week later, Robin stood atop Wayne Tower, staring out over Gotham. High winds buffeted the roof of the skyscraper and tugging fiercely at his cape, but his footing never faltered as he trained his binoculars on a far away building. It had been a quiet night. The thought of Alfred's freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies and the warm bed waiting for him at home beckoned tantalizingly, their siren song making him seriously consider calling it an early night.

As he was tucking his binoculars back into their designated pouch, the flutter of wings drew his attention to a nearby gargoyle. Perched upon the statue's shoulder was a Great Horned Owl, its yellow eyes following Tim's every move.

"Can I help you?" he asked. "If you're one of the Penguin's birds, you can just wing it right back to wherever you came from. I'm taking the rest of the night off."

The owl hooted, sounding almost like a laugh. It held out its leg and Tim eyed the thick cream-colored envelope secured there with a slip of purple ribbon. With an amused huff, he gently untied the package from the bird's leg. "Magic is so weird."

The owl cooed amusedly again, though whether it was laughing _at _himor _with _him, the boy had no idea. Then it took flight, soaring off the edge of the tower towards the eastern horizon. Tim sat down on the ledge next to the gargoyle, legs swinging freely as he studied the green-lettered envelope.

_Mr. Timothy Drake_

_West Wing of Wayne Manor, Second Floor, Fourth Bedroom on the Right_

_1007 Mountain Drive_

_Gotham City, United States_

Tim raised an incredulous eyebrow at the address, resolving to ask Jason whether this was a simple charm or a major security breach. He carefully slid one gauntleted finger beneath the flap, breaking the wax seal. He removed the expensive-looking parchment and carefully unfolded it, a small smile appearing on his masked face as he read.

_Dear Mr. Drake,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

oOo

**Author's Note:** I'm still not sure how this story, or maybe I should say this series, happened. About six months ago, I wrote a short one-shot about Tim Drake's first Transfiguration class at Hogwarts. (It'll make an appearance later, I promise.) It was meant to be a joke, built around one stupid little pun. Somehow, that story grew into a series. I now have three more complete fics, several almost complete, and at least five others in the works.

I haven't decided how I'm going to present them yet—as different chapters of the same fic, or as separate individual fics. Most of the stories should be able to stand alone, but I'm not certain all of them will yet.

The next story, tentatively called "Expanding the Colony", will cover Tim's first experience with the wizarding world and his preparation for Hogwarts.

I'm also thinking about getting a beta, so any advice on how to find one would be greatly appreciated.

Finally, I borrowed the title "If This Be Magic" from William Shakespeare's "A Winter's Tale". (Act five, scene three.)


	2. Expanding the Colony

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DC Comics or the Harry Potter series.

oOo

**Expanding the Colony**

oOo

Tim cursed as the ebony wand stung his fingers and leapt for freedom, embedding itself several inches into a nearby wall. He glared at the offending hunk of wood, rubbing his now-throbbing right hand.

The little old lady behind the counter—one Elizabeth Wesson, co-owner of Smith and Wesson's Fine Wands—tsked amusedly. "My goodness! Such a violent reaction is uncommon. It seems that hellhound blood cores just don't agree with you darlin'." She absentmindedly tossed the empty box in the general direction of the growing pile of incompatible wands, peering through her silver-rimmed bifocals at the boy standing before her.

Tim was thoroughly weirded out. He knew that the magical world was strange and that he needed to expect the unexpected, but his few lessons with Jason Blood hadn't prepared him for the reality of wizarding life. Laveau Street was the center of magical commerce in New Orleans, Louisiana, but to Tim it felt like the Twilight Zone. Mrs. Wesson was his first magical contact outside of the superhero set, and the little old woman was downright bizarre. Her curly salt and pepper hair, pulled back in a messy braid, contrasted sharply against her dark skin. The top of her head barely came up Tim's sternum. With her bright smile and habit of calling Tim "darlin'", she seemed like someone's beloved grandmother. He'd half expected her to invite him in for cookies, milk, and a chat about her grandchildren, but the camouflage robes and tiny gold nose stud ruined that mental image. She practically danced as she moved, bopping around the shop to a tune that she alone could hear.

She certainly wasn't what Tim was expecting when he made an appointment with the premier wandmaker in the United States.

An amused snort, quickly disguised as a cough, shattered the silence, and Mrs. Wesson blinked awake from her quiet study. Without a word, she spun on her heel and danced into the back room. Unless Tim was mistaken, and he rarely was, she was doing the cha cha.

He turned, glaring at Dick, who was currently leaning against a display case by the door, his shoulders shaking and eyes twinkling with repressed mirth. Tim looked to the third person in the room. "Could you please put a leash on him or something?"

From his spot at Dick's side, Bruce huffed. "He's never bothered to listen to me before. What makes you think he'll start now?"

Tim's growl only amused his companions, so he decided to bring out the big guns. "Fine, _Dick_." The emphasis on his own name made the original Robin smirk. "If you don't behave, I'll tell Alfred."

Dick's outraged retort was cut short by Mrs. Wesson's return. She dropped an armful of boxes on the counter-top, shuffled them around, and chose one seemingly at random, removing the lid and extending the box to Tim. "Driftwood and demiguise hair. Good for transfiguration and spells involving stealth. Give it a swish."

Ignoring Dick's snickering with a resigned sigh, Tim grabbed the lumpy gray wand. It seemed to warm at his touch. When he gave it a wave, a few red and yellow sparks tumbled out of the end and fell to the floor. Tim grinned, happy to have finally gotten a positive result.

Mrs. Wesson merely hummed thoughtfully. She plucked the wand from his fingers and set it aside, keeping it separate from the discard pile. "That was good, but not great. We can do better."

Tim waved a dozen more wands, all with lackluster results. When only one wand was left in the pile, Mrs. Wesson carefully picked up the box, holding it close to her bosom like a beloved child. "Well Mr. Drake, you certainly are a puzzle." She opened the box, staring at the wand inside. "Normally I wouldn't even bother pulling out this old boy. It was an experiment from my early days of wandmaking. Both the wood and the core are notoriously difficult to work with, so this is the only wand I've successfully crafted with this particular combination." She ran a finger down the velvet inside the box, careful to avoid touching the wand itself. "Normally I wouldn't bother with this wand, but I have a good feeling about you, darlin'."

She held out the box and Tim studied the wand nestled inside. It was a deep red color, shot through with veins of white that were only visible when light hit its surface at just the right angle. The handle was a stylized bird similar to those found on Native American totem poles in the Pacific Northwest, its wings wrapped around the base of the wand. Judging by the detail in the carving, the wand's creation had clearly been a labor of love. The sky outside the shop windows darkened ominously, but Tim didn't notice as his attention was firmly fixed on the beautiful wand. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the handle.

A shock, like an electric pulse, shot through his right hand and spread throughout the rest of his body. It wasn't painful. On the contrary, it was like an injection of pure power, leaving him feeling invigorated and invincible. The veins along the wand's length began to glow. Tim slashed upwards and silver-white bolts of lightning leaped towards the ceiling, singeing the wood and filling the room with the scent of ozone. A piercing avian cry, like the call of a diving falcon, rang through the shop. Outside, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed in the sky above.

Bruce and Dick shared a worried look, but Tim was oblivious as he stared at the wand. A gentle hand on his elbow broke the spell and Tim turned to Mrs. Wesson for guidance. She smiled softly at the awestruck young man. "I told you I had a good feeling about you, darlin'. That wand is redwood from the Giant Sequoia—ancient and unyielding—with the core of a thunderbird feather. The thunderbird is powerful, intelligent, and wrathful to those who have wronged it, and I think you'll find those same qualities reflected in your new wand. This will be a stubborn wand, Mr. Drake, and it will take a powerful and willful wizard to successfully wield it, but I think you just might be up to the task."

She came around the counter and helped the still silent Tim strap a black leather holster to his right forearm. With a flick of his wrist, the wand disappeared into its new sheathe.

Bruce settled the bill and the trio was preparing to leave the shop when a hand grabbed Tim's shoulder, its grip surprisingly firm. He turned to find Mrs. Wesson watching him with knowing hazel eyes. "According to legend, the thunderbird is a protector, fighting off evil spirits that wish to harm mankind. Make sure you put this wand to good use." She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, leaving Tim to stare at the top of her graying head in bewilderment. Then she winked and gave him a nudge toward the door. "Good luck, darlin'. I have a feeling that you'll need it." With that, she sashayed back behind the counter, into the storeroom, and out of sight.

With one last puzzled glance, Tim stepped outside and into the chaos of Laveau Street. The sun was shining, his family was close by, and he was getting his first opportunity to really explore the wizarding world. He ran his hand along the new holster, pleased at the tiny spark of electricity that passed between his fingers.

Though Mrs. Wesson's parting words left an uneasy a knot in stomach, they were soon forgotten as Tim hurried into the crowd, chasing after Bruce and Dick in their search for a bookstore.

oOo

The day dragged on, leaving the Bats feeling like the proverbial fish out of water amidst the bizarreness of the American wizarding world. Dick tried to sneak away to visit a ramshackle hoodoo shop, but Bruce's firm grip on his arm instead guided him towards the bookstore. Amidst the chaos, garish colors, and random noises of Laveau Street, The Book Wurm was an oasis of sanity. Despite the strange subject matter, the universal smell of a large collection of books—paper, dust, and time—and the sight of shelf after shelf of titles provided a bit of calm familiarity to the trio. They took their time exploring, browsing the aisles and skimming through anything that caught their eye. Between the three of them, they bought more than eighty different books. Aside from Tim's school texts, they'd ended up with books on defensive and offensive magic, wards, magical creatures, history, herbology, potions, charms, and wizarding culture, customs, and business practices. They also cleaned out the sections on technomagic and wizarding forensics, though depressingly enough that only amounted to five books total.

When the trio left Sylvester's Sporting Goods later that morning, the clerk had quite literally been walking on air. After hearing that Bruce intended to purchase six Firebolt broomsticks—one for Tim, one each for Dick and Bruce to play with, and three to experiment on—the young salesman, who apparently worked on commission, had been so excited that a burst of accidental magic had left him floating around the shop

Soon the sun reached its apex and the humidity left the trio's shirts sticking uncomfortably to their skin. Dick threw his hands up in exasperation. "That's it! If I'd have known we were going swimming today, I'd have brought my swim trunks. I think it's time for a break." Spotting a sidewalk café, he grabbed both Bruce and Tim by the arm and began dragging them out of the sun-baked street. They chose a table outdoors, beneath the shade of a large black and white striped umbrella and surrounded by palm frond fans spelled to provide a welcome breeze. A waiter soon appeared, orders were taken, and the three men were left in a comfortable silence. Across the street, a group of enchanted instruments-a trumpet, saxophone, guitar, double bass, and a couple of snare drums—filled the alley with lively jazz music.

Soon the waiter returned with a basket of rolls and three large glasses of sweet iced tea. Dick immediately reached for a roll, taking a large bite. Shredding the remainder into small pieces, he wadded them up and began flicking them into Tim's tea with perfect aim. Fighting down the urge to stab his older brother with a fork, primarily because he knew there was no way he'd come out on top in that particular scuffle, Tim fished the little doughy projectiles out of his drink. Shooting Dick a triumphant smirk, Tim covered the top of his glass with a napkin. But Dick was unfazed, turning his attention to eyeballing Bruce's glass thoughtfully.

"Don't even think about it", Bruce growled in the voice normally reserved for the cape and cowl. Dick merely rolled his eyes and sank back into his chair with a petulant huff, but his grin gave away his amusement.

Feeling too keyed up to sit quietly, Tim mentioned an upcoming charity event that both Bruce and Dick were expected to attend. The conversation soon strayed to other public-approved topics, such as Tim's upcoming time at Hogwarts and a new lung cancer treatment that was showing promising results in Wayne Pharmaceuticals' clinical trials.

All chatter ceased as the waiter approached with a large tray, heavily laden with dishes. Tim had read up a little on magical culture, including the many strange foods and beverages he could expect to see. Even here, in this tiny sidewalk café, he'd spotted dragon steak, pumpkin juice, and something called "butterbeer" on the menu. But luckily, not even the isolationist nature of the wizarding world was enough to keep the influence of Cajun country at bay.

Tim's stomach rumbled greedily and he began salivating like Pavlov's dog as the waiter slid a plate in front of him—a catfish po' boy sandwich, surrounded by a bed of seasoned fries, cole slaw, and hushpuppies. Bruce received a big bowl of seafood gumbo and a half-dozen raw oysters. And Dick, well- Tim wasn't sure what to think about Dick's entrée. It certainly didn't look very appetizing, but Dick seemed to enjoy it well enough. It was a large platter, piled high with bright red mutant water bugs. Or crawfish, as they were technically called. Not that Tim could tell the difference. One of the palm frond fans carried the pungent scent of the crawfish over Tim's way and he had to struggle not to gag. Holding his breath, he carefully shifted his chair aside and out of the breeze's path. Only then could he focus on his own lunch.

Unfortunately, he was so focused that he almost missed Dick leaning around the table. His well-honed senses finally kicking in, Tim snapped his head around and came nose-to-antennae with a little red mudbug, one claw extended and, up until a moment ago, ready to grip onto his earlobe. Dick grinned gamely at being caught, then cracked the shell and devoured Tim's almost-earring.

Tim pretended to turn back to his sandwich once again, but surreptitiously watched Dick instead. His older brother was behaving strangely. Dick was generally a happy and outgoing person. He had a certain _joie__de__vivre_ which, when combined with his naturally magnetic personality, made people love him. It fact, he was one of the most trusted and well-liked members of the superhero community, second only to Superman himself. But within the last couple of days, Dick had been acting downright goofy, occasionally even bordering on juvenile. Something was going on and Tim was starting to worry.

Had he not been watching Dick at that exact moment, he might have missed it. The clown's mask fell away and Dick cut his eyes sideways, studying Bruce in his peripheral vision. And suddenly, Tim understood.

Both Dick and Tim had served as Robin at one time or another, but each brought his own personality to the costume. Tim preferred silent support. He did his job competently and completely, then stayed close at hand should Bruce need back-up in a fight, a careful eye at a crime scene, or a quiet comment when Batman's world became a little too dark and he ventured a little too close to the edge.

But Dick was different. Dick was light and laughter. He kept Bruce grounded by reminding him of all that was right with the world. He made it look effortless, smiling, dropping a stupid pun or a silly joke at just the right moment to keep the darkness at bay.

Tim knew that once you've been a Robin, there was really no getting away from it. Dick had moved on, creating a life for himself by becoming Nightwing. He was the protector of Bludhaven and leader of the Titans now. But the red, green, and yellow were still there, buried deep beneath the black and blue of Nightwing. He'd never wear the green elf boots again, but he would always be a Robin at heart.

Tim would be leaving soon, going overseas for months on end. But more importantly, he was taking Robin with him.

And Batman needed a Robin.

With Tim headed for Scotland, Dick was stepping up to fill the position-even if it was only in spirit.

Tim had never been as grateful for his older brother as he was at that moment.

Dick was still studying Bruce and Tim followed his lead, shifting his focus to his adopted father. Bruce was a superb actor. He pretty much had to be to hide the face of the Batman under the mask of Brucie Wayne. But his boys could still read him easily. They knew his tells; how to read his moods by the set of his jaw, the lines around his eyes, and the slant of his broad shoulders-shoulders which carried far more than their fair share of responsibility and worry.

Right now, Tim thought Bruce looked content. There was no stress, no worry, and no darkness lurking just beneath the surface. Tim mentally thanked Dick once again.

Apparently, Dick came to the same conclusion as he ceased his silent study, swiped a piece of shrimp from Bruce's gumbo, and turned his attention back to Tim.

"So Timmy boy, about those dresses—"

Tim outwardly rolled his eyes, but he was smiling on the inside. Now that he knew the game, he was more than happy to play along. "For the last time, they're _robes_. Not dresses. And it's not like I have a choice in the matter. I have to wear them."

"Oh come on. You know you're excited. Anyone that loves dressing up in drag as much as you do would jump at the chance to openly wear dresses in public."

"Wha-! I do not like dressing in drag! I was just the only one of us small enough to make it convincing." Tim lobbed a hushpuppy at Dick's head, but Dick plucked it out of the air and hurled it back with deadly accuracy. Rubbing his abused forehead, Tim wondered how his older brotherhood had managed to make a little wad of fried cornmeal sting. "You have got to stop hanging out with Roy", he mumbled, shooting Dick a dirty look.

"Speaking of Roy, I'll bet he and the other Titans would just _love_ to see you in your _robes_. Maybe I'll have Babs send out a mass email to everyone-"

Tim froze. If he thought Dick's teasing was bad, Kon would be downright merciless. Like Krypto with his favorite chew toy, Kon would keep gnawing away at Tim until his pride was shredded. "Don't you dare. You even think about it and I swear that I _will_ find a spell to turn you into a toad. Besides, who are you to critique my fashion sense? Need I remind you that you spent several years in those godawful green shortpants?"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Two words, Dick: _Disco.__Suit_."

"Oh Timmy my boy, it's nothing to be ashamed of. We can even add a little skirt to your uniform. It'll be absolutely adorable."

Shifting around in his seat, Tim began dancing and singing. "Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive."

A pointedly cleared throat interrupted his performance, but Tim knew the embarrassment of being caught making a fool of himself by the confused waiter was a small price to pay for the smile on Bruce's face and the amused sparkle in his eyes.

oOo

Their last stop for the day, Lulu's Bayou Zoo was the largest pet store on Laveau Street. Behind the spotless front windows, six kneazle kittens clumsily tumbled about with one another, trying to catch a small stuffed mouse enchanted to run circles around them. The inside of the shop was just as clean, bright blue walls and plenty of lamps providing a cheerful and welcoming atmosphere. It was noisy, with bird calls and feline meows mingling with the croaks of toads and reptilian hisses.

Tim wandered the store, Bruce and Dick following close behind. Tim studied the various animals, debating the relative merits of each. In truth, it was proving to be rather difficult to narrow his choice down to a single species. Owls, ravens, and falcons reminded him of the Penguin, frogs and salamanders of Killer Croc, snakes of King Snake, and the cats and kneazles reminded him of Isis—Catwoman's little terror. He dealt with each enough during his caped outings and didn't relish spending any more time with them than necessary.

The jarveys were amusing, but Tim knew their foul language would quickly wear on his last nerve. He wasn't actually sure if the puffskeins were real animals or merely the wizarding equivalent of a pet rock. They didn't seem to do much but sit there and occasionally stick out their tongue. He briefly considered the shop's only hellhound, 200 pounds of midnight black fur and muscle packed into a beast that stood as tall as a Great Dane. As a kid, he'd always wanted a dog. Something large and friendly. He'd even picked out a name-Ace. But his parents never wanted the responsibility and his childhood dreams of having a puppy of his own never came to pass. Right now, Tim hoped to find a familiar. A creature that was not just a pet, but one that he shared a connection with and that served as a trusted friend and companion. When he looked into the hellhound's glowing red eyes, he felt nothing.

Besides, Alfred would probably flip if he brought home something that big.

Tim stopped along the back wall and the dozens of bird cages lined up there. He pensively eyed a large Eagle Owl. With his hopes of find a true familiar fading, the smartest thing to do would be to settle for an owl. Unlike his other options, at least it could carry mail. The stark lines of the bird's brow feathers made it seem as though the owl was glaring at him and Tim frowned in return. The owl wasn't ideal, but it would do. As Tim turned to catch a salesman's attention, he could swear that the owl rolled its eyes at him.

While waiting for the clerk, Tim pondered over names for his soon-to-be pet. Nothing was jumping out at him. He was about to ask for Bruce and Dick's opinion when he heard a familiar chirp. Tim froze, his well-trained ears straining to pinpoint the sound's origin. He heard it again, coming from behind the owls. Carefully, he picked up several cages and shifted them aside, ignoring the indignant hooting from within. Instead of the wooden wall he was expecting, Tim found a huge glass tank spanning the entire back of the shop, from wall to wall and floor to ceiling.

A pair of glossy amber eyes was staring back at him.

Resting one hand lightly on the tank, Tim stepped forward, his nose mere inches from the thin pane of glass. Inside was the largest bat he had ever seen, hanging upside down from a wooden perch. Its body was over a foot and a half long, with deep reddish brown fur, a black muzzle, and a black domino-like mask of fur surrounding its striking eyes. The creature chirped and spread its leathery black wings, their color and texture reminding him of Bruce's cape, and Tim was amazed to see that its wingspan was easily five feet across.

Intelligence glittered in the creature's eyes, reminding him of another overgrown Bat, and Tim fell in love.

"I see you've found our Giant Golden Crowned Flying Fox. He's one of a very rare species of fruit bat from the Phillipines."

Tim spared a momentary glance at the shopkeeper, long enough to observe that he was a tall Hispanic man with dark hair. According to the tag on his robes, his name was Luis. He looked to be in his late 40s, though it was sometimes hard to tell with wizards. After all, Jason Blood was over a thousand years old, but he didn't look a day over 30.

Tim turned his attention back to the bat. "Luis, right? Why is he hidden? He's beautiful."

"He _is _striking, but the truth is that bats don't sell. I ended up with him when aurors broke up a magical creature smuggling ring. No one else knew how to care for him, so I took him in. While a bat will carry mail for the right wizard or witch, people prefer owls. Bats can be temperamental and difficult to handle."

Tim chuckled softly, murmuring, "Tell me something I don't know."

If Luis heard, he didn't comment. "I can see by the look on your face that you want him. He's expensive."

"I don't care."

The man rattled off a number and soon found his hands full of galleons, compliments of Bruce, along with quite a bit extra for a perch, traveling cage, and any other supplies the clerk felt might be necessary.

Twenty minutes later the trio was back outside, the newest member of their colony circling overhead.

Bruce shook his head, amused despite himself, as the bat dive-bombed a flock of pigeons, sending them scattering. "You do realize that you're going to Scotland so that you can blend in, right? A giant bat isn't exactly unobtrusive."

Tim lifted his arm, allowing the surprisingly light creature to land and hang upside down, curling his wings around himself. "I know, but I couldn't leave him there. He's perfect."

Bruce scratched the bat under his fuzzy chin, getting a happy chirp in return. "I suppose we can work around it."

Tim grinned wickedly, then caught Dick's gaze with laughter-filled eyes. "So, Bruce," he said, fighting down a case of the giggles. "How mad would you be if I named him Brucie?"

oOo

**Author****'****s ****Note:** The Giant Golden Crowned Flying Fox is an actual creature. I've posted a few links to example pictures at the bottom of my profile.

The next chapter will have Tim entering the HP world. However, I'm at a bit of a loss as to which house to put him in. I know where I think he should go, both for characterization and narrative purposes. But as many people have pointed out, he could technically fit into any of the houses. If you were writing this story, where would you put him?

I've decided to gather all of my "Tim at Hogwarts" stories in one entry, but they will not be one cohesive novel. Instead, it'll be a series of fics and ficlets that skip around to cover different events. I can't even promise that they'll be in chronological order, though I will certainly try.

There might be a little light romance or flirting later, but I'm undecided on that. If it does appear, I doubt it will be anytime soon.

Finally, thank you to everyone who has reviewed—not just on this story, but on all of them. I wish I could respond personally to everyone, but it's simply not possible. I've been even more busy than usual lately. In fact, I've had this entry waiting for almost a month, and I finally had to rearrange my schedule just to be able to sit down, look for obvious errors, and post it. Please don't think I'm ungrateful for not responding. I most certainly am grateful, and every review leaves me wanting to write more.


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